To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 

 To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 

 Where things that own not man's dominion 



dwell, 



And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been; 

 To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 

 With the wild flock that never needs a fold; 

 Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; 

 This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold 

 Converse with Nature's charms, and view her 



stores unroll'd. 



BYRON. 



